


Because the Night (Belongs to Us)

by starchase



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Romance, past ignis/gladio, past prompto/noctis, spoilers for end game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 06:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10691427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starchase/pseuds/starchase
Summary: They lean against each other, quiet, simply taking comfort from the fact that neither of them are alone. Through each other, there is still a piece of home that remains alive, a piece of Noctis, and to an extent Gladio, that will never die.





	Because the Night (Belongs to Us)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the FFXV Kink Meme, the prompt being: Prompto/Noct & Gladio/Ignis becomes Prompto/Ignis during the Long Dark - Ignis and Prompto, left alone together, take comfort with each other.
> 
> This is less a solid fic and more moments that Prompto and Ignis find comfort from one another. All the same, if you're reading this then I hope you enjoy! There are spoilers here for Chapter 9 in the game onwards!

It starts off small, merely something comforting, and a deep, bone-aching sense of homesickness. It's just been so very, very, long, since Prompto has last seen Noctis. When the sunrise never comes, and Noctis never appears, Prompto doesn't know what to make of it. He's a little ashamed to admit it now, but at the time he waited. He'd waited for years, every day thinking to himself _'maybe today's the day Noct finally comes back.'_ It never was, though, and at some point, Prompto had to stop waiting. At some point, there are more important things that require his attention and efforts. He never gives up on Noctis, not truly, because he knows that Noctis isn't dead, and that with him comes all the hope of returning the daylight. But through the darkness, and over the years, Prompto finds himself dropping little pieces, here and there, of his hopes for Noctis and himself.  
  
He finds himself spending a lot of time with Ignis, during the darkness. Gladiolus is not often there. Gladio's full of anger, Prompto knows, and regrets, he thinks, and these feelings drive him away from Prompto and Ignis. Drive him to keep on the move constantly, fighting with every inch of his being, if the stories that circulate are anything to believe. So neither of them see Gladio often, and the times they do, Gladiolus is always so tense, so stiff and distant, nothing like the man Prompto remembers he used to be. He still has photographs on his camera, of Gladio from those days, who was always ready with a pose whenever Prompto turned the camera on him.  
  
He's not surprised at the change, not really, because Prompto knows he's changed a lot himself, since Noctis has gone, and he knows, has _seen_ , the changes in Ignis, too. It's bound to happen. But it doesn't mean he likes the changes that he sees, whenever Gladio happens to be in the same place at the same time as himself and Ignis.  
  
Ignis never talks of it, but Prompto had been there, he'd seen the bonds that had been developing between Ignis and Gladio, before Altissia, before everything went so horribly wrong. He knows it must hurt, every time Ignis is around Gladio, to know what had once seemed so bright and promising, was another spot of darkness in their now sunless world.  
  
Prompto knows those feelings well, because he's lived through them himself, with Noctis. More than once, truth be told. The first dark spot on their relationship had been the engagement to Lunafreya, because, well _shit_ , Noctis had suddenly been promised to someone who wasn't Prompto, and that had been hell. Then, the peace treaty had been shown to be a lie, and things happened on the road, because he and Noct had a history. It was hard not to, when none of them knew what was truly happening, when the most important thing had been to get to each of the Astrals, first, before even considering if a wedding was still to take place.  
  
Then Lunafreya had died, and everything had become so, so much worse for them all. Ending with Noctis vanished inside the crystal, and four years gone with no knowing when he's going to come out of that crystal again. Prompto doesn't consider an 'if', because Noctis has to, he _has to._  
  
Altissia, Prompto often finds himself thinking, was truly when everything had gone wrong, all their plans and their hopes, dashed by the Empire, and Ardyn. His fists clench in unconscious anger at the mere thought of Ardyn Izunia, and everything he has brought upon them and the world.  
  
He feels a hand upon his shoulder, senses Ignis close behind him, and his presence breaks Prompto from the dark path his mind had been travelling. “What's wrong?” Ignis asks.  
  
His hand is warm upon Prompto's shoulder, and he clings to the sensation of that warmth, that comfort, a single, small bright spot. “Nothing's wrong!” He tries to assure Ignis, and even though he knows the other man can't see, he tilts his head, offers a smile. It makes Prompto feel easier about the lie, at least. “What makes you think something's wrong?”  
  
But Ignis is as perceptive as ever, even without his eyesight, and Prompto has always been an open book. “Your breathing was faster than usual. As you're not exerting yourself in any way, something else must be wrong,” Ignis says evenly. “So, what's wrong?”

Prompto sighs, shifts a little, where he's seated on the bed. It's a little like the old days, they're sharing a caravan, having been hunting daemons. Except they're two friends down now, and where Prompto would usually end up sharing a bed with Noctis, he and Ignis sleep separately, one of them on the fold out bed, and it feels so much emptier than it used to. At least Ignis is still here though, Prompto thinks. He's not sure he'd be able to bear being entirely on his own.

He gives up, because there's no fooling Ignis, he can hear a lie in Prompto's voice, as easily as he used to be able to see an untruth in Prompto's eyes. “I was just, you know,” he says, “thinking about things. About what's happened.”

“Ah,” Ignis says. His hand moves from Prompto's shoulder, slips lightly down the length of his arm, before his hand rests on top of Prompto's own, fingers tangling loosely. Offering the kind of comfort Ignis knows Prompto needs.  
  
Prompto turns his hand, grips Ignis' hand suddenly, folds their fingers together tightly. He's always needed physical comfort, and since they have, more often than not, been left alone together, Ignis has never seemed to mind providing Prompto with it.

“I-it's just hard, you know?” Prompto says, voice coming out soft and quiet.  
  
“I know.” Ignis gives Prompto's hand a light squeeze.  
  
Prompto lets himself lean upon Ignis, to rest against his strength, just for a little while; he doesn't want to borrow too much, because gods know Ignis needs it for himself. But sometimes Prompto just feels so utterly alone, and Ignis is always right here, the only one who hasn't left.  
  
They sit quietly like that for some time, Prompto pressed against Ignis' side, their fingers still entwined, taking comfort from the presence of another person. It's nice, Prompto thinks, and he finds he misses being this close to another person. He hasn't really, since Noct.  
  
The silence is oddly comforting, but when Ignis shifts a little, Prompto sits up again, instantly feels bad for taking so much, feels useless and foolish for his moment of weakness. He's been through a lot, he's older now, he's not meant to break so easily.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, tries to move his hand away. Ignis doesn't let go, though. When Prompto turns to look at him, he sees Ignis looking in his direction, though he knows Ignis can't really see him.

“Whatever for?” Ignis asks, and his voice is so matter of fact, so how Prompto remembers it, from before.  
  
Prompto shrugs, feeling even sillier now, not sure how to word what's going on inside his thoughts. They're a little all over the place. “I dunno. For taking up your time, I guess.” It's not exactly what he means, but it's as close as he can get. Somewhere between Noctis disappearing and now, Prompto has found it harder than he used to to talk about his feelings. Maybe because, back then a lot of his feelings, besides the shit that had been going on, the scary dungeons, the messy, dangerous hunts, his feelings had been happy, as long as Noctis was nearby. Now, Noctis wasn't even married to someone else – something that Prompto had learned to accept, mostly, at the time – he was just gone. He could handle, he thinks, having Noctis married to another person, if it at least meant he could be by his best friend's side.  
  
“Prompto.” Ignis' voice is gentle, a voice he used to use more often with Noctis, when imparting something difficult, or trying to comfort him. It's not a voice Prompto has often heard used for him, though. Fond exasperation, yes, plenty, but not quite this level of care, this tone of warmth. “Has it occurred to you,” Ignis continues, “that perhaps you offer me some peace, also?”  
  
Prompto can't imagine anyone gaining any kind of comfort from him, not really. But he doesn't think Ignis would lie to him, not now. Not when it's mostly just the two of them, not with how things have changed.

“O-okay,” he says, quietly. They shift positions a little, Ignis uncurls his fingers from around Prompto's, moves until he has an arm around Prompto's shoulder; it takes him a moment to properly situate himself, Prompto feels Ignis' hand tap against his shoulderblade, sensing where to put his arm, and Prompto feels a deep sadness within himself at that first tentative, testing, touch, until Ignis' arm settles comfortably around him. They lean against each other, quiet, simply taking comfort from the fact that neither of them are alone. Through each other, there is still a piece of home that remains alive, a piece of Noctis, and to an extent Gladio, that will never die.  
  
So it's a small thing, in the beginning, the comfort of another person, someone from home, someone who knows the pain they've been through. Besides Gladio, no one else truly knows how everything that has happened has changed them, shaped them; though what's changed for Gladio is what has driven him away in the first place.

 

-

 

It's been a hard day hunting – well, day and night have become relative terms – and Prompto feels drained and miserable, as he limps into Lestallum. It seems no matter how many daemons he and other hunters kill, their numbers never diminish. It feels like there's more, if anything. Prompto forces his mind not to dwell too much on it, on what he learnt years ago in Gralea, not to consider how new numbers are ever added to their swarm.  
  
His ankle aches from a fall Prompto took earlier, a stupid mistake, he'd misjudged how close a bussemand was, tripped over his own feet in an effort to get some range. There's a constant ache there now, but Prompto doesn't want to waste a potion. He'll bind it up when he gets a room, try to rest on it until he has to move out again. But before that, he has something he has to do first.

He makes his way through the eternally crowded streets of Lestallum, the last, true, safe place left in the world. With all the refugee's having settled here, it's overcrowded, always busy. People try to make do, they have to, but it's a far cry from the Lestallum Prompto remembers first rolling into on that hot, sunny day, with his three friends at his side.

He finds Dave, over by the weapons store. Prompto squares his shoulders, but years of experience still doesn't stop the burning feeling in the back of his throat at what he has to do.

“Oh, hey there, kid,” Dave greets, spying Prompto coming his way. His eyes fall to Prompto's leg, before settling back on his face. “You alright?”  
  
Prompto waves a hand, brushing his pain aside. “Yeah, it's nothing,” he says easily. He feels his heart start to pound, as one hand digs through his pockets, before his fingers curl around a cool chain. “Sorry,” he says simply, as he drops the tag into Dave's hand. It's a horribly common occurrence, these days.

Dave looks at the tag, releases a heavy sigh. “I sure am sorry, too. Thanks for bringing this to me, though.” He's gruff and to the point, as always, but there's sincerity in his voice. “Your friend's been looking for you,” he adds, to Prompto's surprise. “Been in town a couple days, hoping you'd pass through.”

“Oh, thanks for letting me know.”  
  
They nod in farewell at each other, and Prompto walks away, teeth grit as he tries to ignore the throbbing in his ankle; he needs to sit down.

He knows who Dave means, when he mentioned a friend; it can only be Ignis. They'd split up a couple of weeks ago, a couple of areas had needed help clearing out daemons, and they'd known they could help more people if they split up. Prompto's relieved to know Ignis is okay, and made it back to Lestallum already. Prompto already knows where Ignis will be, he'll be waiting at the apartment they both make use of when they're in the city, and Prompto makes his way there, albeit a little slower than usual.

When Ignis opens the door to Prompto's knock, the sight of his friend's face sends a shock of warmth through Prompto, a weight drops from him that he wasn't aware he was carrying.  
  
“Prompto,” Ignis says, and it's almost a question, because Ignis can't see that it's him, though he assumes it must be Prompto.

“Hey.” He steps into the apartment, Ignis closing the door behind them both, and immediately makes a beeline for the nearest chair; his ankle is almost unbearable now.

“It's good to hear from you,” Ignis says, making his way over towards the small kitchen, presumably to start making Prompto something to drink.  
  
“You too,” Prompto answers, before pulling his boot off, a pained grunt escaping him.

“Prompto?” Ignis' head moves to look in Prompto's general direction. “What's wrong?”  
  
Can't hide anything from Ignis, Prompto reminds himself. “O-oh, nothing,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Just hurt my ankle earlier. I'll be fine after I rest for a bit.”  
  
Coffee making abandoned, Ignis moves towards the bed, where his bag rests, and when he moves back towards Prompto it's with a familiar bottle of a curative in hand. “Ig, it's okay,” Prompto starts to say, but Ignis finds Prompto's hand after a few searching taps against his arm, and presses the bottle into it.

“Hush, and take your medicine,” Ignis chides, gently, “like a good boy.”  
  
Prompto lets out a startled laugh; he hasn't felt like a _boy_ in a long time, but with the way Ignis tells him that, a little of that feeling comes back to him, of being young and looked out for.  
  
Prompto huffs, though there's a smile on his face all the same. “Dunno who you're calling 'boy',” he mumbles, as he breaks the bottle. He feels the familiar coolness of the restorative flow through him, and the painful ache at his ankle subsides. He let's out a soft sigh of relief, he hadn't realised how bad the pain actually was, until it was gone.  
  
When Prompto looks over at him, Ignis has a fond smile on his face, and he reaches out, ruffles his hand through Prompto's hair; it's an act that reminds him quite suddenly of Noctis. “Only the child who thinks it wise to ignore an injury,” Ignis answers. His hand moves, holds it out towards Prompto, and Prompto grips it into his own, allows Ignis to help him out of the chair. “Now, go lay down and get some rest.”

It seems impossible for Ignis to stop himself from trying to take care of people, and usually, Prompto tries to make sure Ignis takes care of himself first these days, but he's so tired now that he's no longer in pain, and laying down sounds so good to him. “Just for a bit,” he agrees, as he drops himself onto the bed. He doesn't want to fall asleep yet, though, he has a lot to tell Ignis, and he's sure Ignis has just as much to tell him. Those two weeks apart suddenly feel like they were much, much longer to Prompto.

Prompto isn't aware that he fell asleep until he wakes up. He's lost all sense of time, but as his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, he guesses that some time has passed. The lights have been switched off, although the light from signs and street lamps outside seep in through the curtains; these days, the more light the better. Prompto's still in his clothes, though, but when he glances over, he sees Ignis lying on the other side of the bed, changed into his own sleepwear. He thinks at least a couple of hours must have passed by now.  
  
He reaches out to check his phone for the time, then realise it's not there, and spies it over on the side table, plugged in and charging. It strikes Prompto, all over again, just how amazing Ignis is, how well he's learnt to adjust to his injury, how much he can still do. He'd almost think that Ignis wasn't blind sometimes, but for the constant reminder of the scars across his face, and those taps as he's searching for something.  
  
Prompto turns onto his side, finds himself just looking at Ignis for a moment. His usual shaded glasses are off, and even in the darkness Prompto can see the scars on his face. His heart tightens at the sight. Ignis' hair is flat against his forehead, he's had a shower, Prompto thinks, and without even thinking, he reaches out towards him, brushes some of the hair from Ignis' face. He's not sure why he does it.

Ignis shuffles, then surprises Prompto by reaching out, one hand groping across the bed until he captures Prompto's hand. “Are you alright?” He asks, voice sleepy but concerned.  
  
Prompto catches himself nodding, then flushes with shame. “I'm fine, I just woke up,” he says. “I don't think we've been asleep for long.”  
  
Ignis hums quietly in response, settles back down.  
  
“Hold on,” Prompto says, and uncurls his fingers from Ignis' with a touch of regret. He speaks quickly, so Ignis doesn't get the wrong idea. “I just wanna get changed quick. Sleeping in my Crownsguard uniform isn't very comfy.”  
  
He thinks he sees some unreadable expression on Ignis' face relax, and a soft breath of laughter escapes him. “At least you aren't wearing boots.”  
  
Prompto pretends to sound outraged, as he digs through his bag for his pyjamas. “Wear boots in bed?” He hears that laugh from Ignis again, and that sound makes his heart feel lighter. He makes quick work of his clothes, and they fall with a rustle to pool on the floor, as he slips into a loose t-shirt and pants.  
  
He hears Ignis _tsk_ from behind him. “I hope that's not the sound of you leaving your clothes rumpled across the floor?”  
  
Prompto turns his head, glances back at Ignis, and finds himself grinning. For a moment, this feels like better days, the easy teasing, less weight upon their shoulders, and their hearts. “Just so you know,” he says, because there are reasons why he can't quite forget these aren't better days, “I'm grinning at you right now.”  
  
“Ah,” Ignis says, and in the hazy street lamps that shine through the curtains, Prompto thinks he can see a smile on Ignis' face. “I was right then.”  
  
Prompto at least picks his clothes up, places them on a chair, before climbing back into the bed. “Yep.” He settles back down against the pillows, finds sleep pulling at him again now that he's more comfortable. A thought crosses Prompto's mind. “Iggy?” He says, before he considers how weird and stupid he'll sound, and he wishes he can take it back.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“N-nothing,” Prompto says, hoping Ignis will let him have this. “Nevermind. Go back to sleep.”  
  
“Prompto,” he says, in that tone that Prompto vividly recalls hearing years ago, the tone that brooked no argument. In the past, it would be used on himself and Noctis a lot, trying to get the truth of a situation from one or the other of them. It's always worked on Prompto, even now, even when he should be much less susceptible to that tone of voice than he was as a teenager. “What is it?”  
  
Ignis' eye is open, aimed in Prompto's direction, but he knows that Ignis can't actually see him. Even so, Prompto finds it hard to lie when Ignis looks at him like that. He just doesn't want to make things weird.  
  
He pulls in a shaky breath. “I just...I wondered...” he pulls in another breath, reminds himself how long they've known each other; Ignis won't laugh. “Will you hold me?” The words came out in a fast rush of barely heard words. But Ignis hears them.  
  
Prompto feels a little foolish, a little vulnerable, but it's been such a long time, and he misses the sensation. He thinks he'll like it even more, if it's Ignis.  
  
He hears Ignis pull in a soft breath, only to release it a moment later. Then he feels Ignis shuffle closer, and Prompto's heart is thudding, a little heavier, a little faster, inside his chest, as an arm winds around him, tugs him in close. Prompto relaxes immediately, lets himself settle against Ignis, one arm thrown over Ignis' waist in return. He feels fingers in his hair, a light comfort, and hears Ignis speak, his words a soft breath against Prompto's forehead.  
  
“Of course, Prompto.”  
  
It's a simple comfort, but a comfort nonetheless, to have Ignis hold him with so much care.

 

-

 

The world is vastly changed after Noctis disappears. It's been four years now, but at first, it took Prompto a good long time to get used to the fact that neither Noctis, or the sun, seemed to be coming back any time soon. He remembers how long it took, really, for both of those things to truly sink in, to stop waiting for a sunrise that would never happen, to stop listening for a familiar footstep outside the door.  
  
He's only used to both of these out of necessity, and the passing of time.  
  
Prompto remembers, with a flush of shame any time the memory comes back to him, of how insensitive he was near the beginning of this darkness. He still wasn't used to either the sun or Noct disappearing from his life yet, and he'd been so miserable, and he remembers how he'd said something to Ignis about the dark, he doesn't remember exactly what, the shame has thankfully wiped some of that from his memory, but he knows that despite his misery it hadn't been considerate. He remembers how Ignis had responded, replied dryly, and with more bitterness than Prompto had ever heard from him before, how he hadn't noticed the darkness. And at those words Prompto had frozen, all his useless fidgeting, restless energy drained from him in absolute horror, because he never wanted to hurt Ignis. It was unusual too, to hear that tone in Ignis' voice, that type of caustic venom. Prompto wouldn't be surprised if Ignis ever spoke like that more often, who could blame him after what had happened, but Ignis never had, and never does now, so it took him by surprise at the time.  
  
He'd felt awful, kept apologising to Ignis, he just hadn't been _thinking_ , he was so sorry, and it wasn't until Ignis had given Prompto's shoulder a squeeze, assured him, genuinely if a little bit exasperated, that it was _okay_. After that though, Prompto never complained about the darkness again. Every time he thinks wistfully about the sun, he reminds himself that even when it does come back – he knows it will come back, it has to come back, along with Noctis – Ignis won't be able to see it.  
  
Over the past couple of months, Prompto has realised that, though Ignis won't be able to see it, when it does happen, he'll still be able to enjoy the warmth of the sun's light on his skin again. And Prompto will do his utmost to describe everything he sees to Ignis, so he can enjoy it as much as possible. He'll make sure of it.

 

-

 

Prompto can pinpoint exactly when his friendship with Ignis first shifts, properly - not that shift, early on in his friendship with Noctis, going from goofball friend to an important person in Noct's life. The first, real, shift, had been after that day in Altissia. Everyone had just kind of fallen apart, and Prompto had felt like it had been left to him, to try to keep them together, to keep them all going so they could see this through. But more than that, it had been Prompto's care towards Ignis. Gladio's pain and anger had made him push away, and Noct's inability to deal with his grief and his feelings had kept his mind trained inwards.  
  
Prompto had always struggled with not being useful, not being strong or clever or anything else good, but he'd known if there was anything he could do, it was be supportive to Ignis, try to help him through what had happened. Maybe the shift had been Prompto starting to become more responsible, earning himself more respect, it didn't matter so much what the shift was, only that it had happened.  
  
The next big shift is difficult for Prompto to pinpoint, because it's crept up on him quietly, in the dark. Somehow, through the years spent together more often than not. Fighting with each other, learning an even deeper understanding of each other than before, and watching Ignis re-learn how to fight, and become even better at it than he'd been before. It kept Prompto in constant awe of Ignis, and perhaps some of that awe had translated itself into something else.  
  
Through nights of feeling like the only two people in the world at times, through darkness that wasn't simply the lack of sun, keeping each other's moods and spirits up.  
  
It's lost, somewhere in those years, that next shift.

 

-

 

“Three o'clock!” Prompto calls out, and Ignis turns immediately in that direction, his daggers slicing through the ereshkigal before it's claws could slice through Ignis. It vanished a moment later, the blow a killing one.  
  
That meant there were still two more daemons left, Prompto thinks, his eyes trying to scan through the dark for the other two ereshkigal he knows are there.  
  
“Prompto, behind you!”  
  
Prompto turns just in time, the ereshkigal is quick, but so is Prompto, and he has his gun raised, hitting the daemon almost point blank when he fires. It's enough to make the daemon recoil, give Prompto space to move back and take another shot. A moment later and Ignis is there, his daggers making quick work of the daemon. Prompto uses that moment to pick out the other one, and though his eyes have managed to adjust to years of darkness, the ereshkigal were dark as well, and difficult to stop with their quick movements. He finds it though, and finishes off the last one.  
  
Ignis, his breaths coming a little heavier after their brief but intense battle, comes up beside Prompto, his daggers vanishing in a flash of blue light, the brightness of which almost hurting Prompto's eyes just then. They're silent for a few moments, before Ignis presses a hand against Prompto's shoulder. “I don't hear anything else nearby. Let us return quickly.”  
  
“You don't have to tell me twice,” Prompto jokes weakly, his own hand coming to rest briefly against Ignis' shoulder. It was their silent ritual after a fight, a kind of _'I'm here'_ , a symbol of reassurance to each other.  
  
Prompto finds he misses the warmth once it's gone, as he and Ignis make their way back to Lestallum. They aren't far from the city proper, they'd headed out at reports of some daemons getting worryingly close, a relatively easy mission, by all accounts. They're waylaid by a thunder bomb about half way back, Ignis hearing it before Prompto can see it, though they manage to dispatch of it between them quickly, before it can explode and cause more trouble. It barely gives them pause, they've become so used to fighting against the unending stream of daemons the world keeps spewing at them.  
  
They stumble into Lestallum not too worse for wear, Ignis informing the hunter's on duty that the western perimeter had now been cleared out. There's a message from Aranea, that she's on her way with some refugee's she's rescued.  
  
“Hope we're here to see her when she comes by,” Prompto says, as they make their way to the apartment. “We haven't seen Aranea in forever!”  
  
“Indeed,” Ignis agrees. “Her work does keep her busy.”  
  
They don't see enough of most of their old friends, really, and Prompto finds himself once again deeply grateful for Ignis, and how they continuously seem to gravitate to each other, not often taking leave of each other for too long when they can help it.  
  
It seems hotter than usual tonight, and as soon as the door closes behind them in the apartment, Prompto begins pulling off his jacket, not that it helps much, there's hardly anything to it in the first place. Ignis is removing his own jacket, in a much less careless manner, and in the motion and better lighting, Prompto notices a streak of red across Ignis' neck, low, near his collarbone.  
  
“Iggy!” He says, surprised, because he'd had no idea. “You're hurt! Why didn't you say anything?” He moves across the room quickly, even as Ignis shakes his head.  
  
“It's just a scratch. It wasn't worth mentioning.”  
  
“You're bleeding,” Prompto says, hands on Ignis' shoulders now so he can keep him still, get a better look at the slashed skin.  
  
“Ah, that will be a first, then.”  
  
Prompto can't help but laugh a little at the dryness of Ignis' voice. “Think you're so clever, don't you?” He jokes, stepping away so he can retrieve the first aid box they keep. Ignis wouldn't want to use a potion on this, Prompto knows, he'd deem it a waste.  
  
“Actually,” Ignis begins, a light, teasing lilt in his voice, one that Prompto doesn't get to hear nearly enough.  
  
“Stop, don't answer that,” Prompto shoots back, laughing. It doesn't take him long to find what he's looking for, and a moment later he turns back towards Ignis. “Sit,” he instructs, stepping towards the other man.  
  
Ignis sighs, as if he's just indulging Prompto, but sits down in a nearby chair. “I hardly think this is necessary. I can barely feel it.”  
  
“Don't care,” Prompto answers, firmly, but fondly, leaning over Ignis now. He begins cleaning the blood off of Ignis' skin, his touch gentle, but it still pulls a soft hiss from Ignis. “You really should have said something, Iggy.”  
  
“As I'm sure you can see, it's really nothing to write home about. I'm perfectly fine.”  
  
Prompto, fingers moving surely over the wound, glances up to Ignis' face; they're quite close, like this. His heart is suddenly thumping inside his chest, faster than usual, and he hopes, a bit ridiculously, that Ignis can't hear it. “I know you're fine,” he finds himself saying after a moment. He can see this for himself, the wound looks like Ignis was nicked by the tip of a quick, sharp claw, but nothing more.

He doesn't want Ignis to think that he can't look after himself though, he knows how independent and in control Ignis has to be, and Prompto knows, has seen for himself, that his blindness hasn't hindered him from this, he's just had to work his way around it. Injury or not, Ignis is still the most capable, and one of the deadliest, people Prompto has ever known. He would never imply otherwise.  
  
His fingers linger a little, against the side of Ignis' neck, the antiseptic wipe already set aside, so it's Prompto's fingertips against Ignis' bare skin. He's almost certain he can feel a hint of Ignis' pulse, beating faster than expected, and Ignis' skin is definitely warm beneath his fingers.  
  
“Just,” Prompto says, throat suddenly thick, and he swallows, moves his hand down to Ignis' shoulder, before he tries again. “Just, you gotta tell me, okay? Not because you can't look out for yourself,” he adds quickly, words coming out in a rush, “but. But, because I have to know.”  
  
They're quiet for a moment. All Prompto can hear is the incessant pounding of his heart, Ignis' breaths coming a little faster. He's only just realised that perhaps his heart is overreacting to the press of a hand against his waist; a warm, easy comfort, momentarily tying them together and keeping them close.  
  
Eventually, Ignis seems to pull himself together, although there's almost a light quake in his voice, when he speaks. “Alright. It's ridiculous, but if it'll make you happy.”  
  
Prompto's heart slowly begins to soar.  
  
“It will,” he insists. It takes him a few moments longer, but he pulls himself together, and away from Ignis, picking up his discarded wipes. “You're not bleeding any more, so I think it is just a scratch.  
  
“Ah.” Somehow, in that one word, Ignis manages to convey such a strong sense of _'I told you so.'_  
  
Prompto wants to laugh, a strong feeling of fondness rising within him at the sound, but he settles instead for tossing the used wipe in the trash.  
  
They settle into an almost domestic routine, when they're both in the same place at the same time. After getting changed into comfier clothes, Prompto helps Ignis cook them up something to eat. And by 'help', it's really just Prompto standing close by, asking questions, watching as Ignis works. More often than not, Prompto finds his eyes on Ignis' face, following the curve of his neck and shoulders, watches his arm as Ignis stirs the food, his fingers as he deftly chops some vegetables. It's almost mesmerising, and Prompto doesn't realise he's staring, until Ignis' voice suddenly pulls him from it.  
  
“Can I get the salt please, Prompto?”  
  
“W-what? Oh, oh! Yeah, sure, of course!” Prompto, a bit flustered, passes Ignis the salt, swallows just a little thickly when their fingers brush.  
  
They settle into what passes for normalcy for them now, sharing food, conversation, and occasionally laughter. It's nice, Prompto thinks, or as nice as anything can be, these days.

-

 

It's different, with Ignis, Prompto finds.. He remembers quite clearly – painfully so, sometimes – how things were with Noctis, how young they were, how Prompto had never even had a friend before, and his feelings had been overwhelming and boundless, and Noctis' had been the same in return. Everything had been shy, but eager, and at the time feelings had seemed limitless.

It isn't the same for Prompto, this time around. He's older, for a start, and both he and Ignis know the pain of regret, of things unsaid, undone, never to be. So it creeps up on Prompto, really, quietly, but steadily. He finds comfort and solace in Ignis, in a piece of his home and his past, and he hopes that in return Ignis has been able to find comfort in Prompto, he certainly tries, at least.  
  
He thinks that's all it really is at first, friend's lending each other strength and support in dark times. Ignis is there, with a shoulder to lean on, or a hand to squeeze, or even arms wound tightly around Prompto, when he needs them, and he thinks that's all there is to it. Until he realises, on nights when he's alone, how his thoughts always stray back to Ignis, wishing he were there, worried for his safety, missing his warmth, that there's more to it than simple comfort. At least as far as Prompto's concerned. There's definitely more to it, when he finds himself imagining what it might be like to kiss Ignis. He misses that.  
  
They're sharing a caravan again, and they're in Hammerhead at the moment. What was once Takka's restaurant has become headquarters for hunters, over the years, and hunting is what keeps Ignis and Prompto busy.  
  
It's night now, or what's supposed to be night, the only true indication any more are the times on their phones, and Prompto's cooking dinner. He's spent his day fixing the lights and other various things around Hammerhead. Besides hunting, tinkering, fixing, and enhancing things are what takes up most of Prompto's time. He's learnt a lot from Cid especially, about enhancing weapons. It's not the best, but it's not the worst either, he supposes, and he likes being able to do what he can to try and help keep people safe.  
  
He's just spooning some food into two bowls when Ignis steps from the tiny shower room, washed and dressed again after a day spent hunting. Prompto glances over at Ignis, and finds himself, as always, in complete awe of him. He knows Ignis can fight and hold his own against daemons still, and he's witnessed it many times now, but it never stops amazing him, how Ignis can do all that, and still come back, most of the time, without even a scratch on him. Prompto's sure he's never known anyone as incredible, to be honest.  
  
“Something smells wonderful,” Ignis says, moving with ease towards the tiny kitchen. His hair is brushed down over his forehead, still damp from his shower. It makes him look so much younger, more like his actual age, Prompto thinks.  
  
“Oh, it's not nearly as good as yours,” Prompto says, as always, struck by the sincerity in Ignis' comments. He's gotten better at cooking over the years, out of necessity, but nothing really rivals Ignis' cooking. “Just a simple stew.” Prompto pushes a bowl in front of Ignis as he takes a seat.  
  
“Even so,” Ignis insists, and he smiles softly across the table at Prompto.  
  
Prompto smiles back; he hopes, even though Ignis can't see it, that he can feel it, aimed at him. “Well as long as it's edible I'll be happy!” He says, picking up his spoon. “Spoon's on your right,” he adds.  
  
They eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, Prompto savours how normal it almost is, sitting here, sharing a meal with Ignis. He's so grateful that he's not alone right now. After years of doing so as a kid, Prompto hates eating alone, there's nothing quite as lonely, he finds. So he's glad, and happy, that he has Ignis here, to enjoy the meal with.  
  
“Hmm, a touch too much salt, I think,” Ignis says after a few mouthfuls. It's not a criticism, Prompto always asks for ways to improve.  
  
“Yeah, you're right,” Prompto agrees. “Thanks, I'll remember for next time.”  
  
“This is delicious though,” Ignis says, a moment later. “Thank you, Prompto.” There's a smile, aimed at Prompto, and the sincerity in those words strikes a chord within Prompto, has him considering some of the thoughts that have been passing through his mind lately. It's simple, but knowing that he's done something for Ignis makes him happy. He just wishes he could do more, Prompto's always been the least useful of the four of them, he knows, and sometimes his desire to do more for those he loves feels restricted by the knowledge that he's not really very good at anything. Still, with Ignis' smile still lingering in his memory, Prompto finds it hard to be too down on himself, and he'll take the small things, like cooking Ignis a meal and making him smile.  
  
They continue to eat, alternating between an easy silence and comfortable small talk. He can almost imagine it's just a normal evening. Except he can hear the heavy footfalls of an iron giant striding around, somewhere down the road, see the unnatural glow of some fire bombs in the distance, their light different from the other lights that leak through the thin curtains. He'll take almost, as well, though.  
  
When they're finished, they stand in the tiny kitchenette together, washing up the dishes. Ignis had insisted he would do them, as Prompto had done the cooking, but Prompto insists on helping. It's an easy routine to fall into, giving Ignis a hand, although Prompto feels entirely different things now than he did, during those days on the road.  
  
It's almost painfully domestic, as Prompto washes and Ignis dries, shoulders and legs bumping occasionally, as there's hardly room for two full grown men really in the small space, but Prompto likes it. Wishes perhaps the circumstances could be better, but he's gotten used to not pining too hard for those good old days, when he can help it, and focusing on what good he can find now. Ignis is part of that good, he thinks. Maybe most of that good, he reconsiders, thinking of the comfort Ignis gives him.  
  
When the last dish is put away, Prompto turns towards Ignis, close in the small space, reaches out with one hand, rests it lightly in the curve of Ignis' elbow. If there's one thing Prompto has learnt after everything, it's that time and opportunity are terrible things to waste and let slip by. He doesn't want to let lost moments slip away again. He's almost certain, well, possibly almost certain – hopeful, really, not at all certain, that he's not the only one who feels this slow build up of heat between them. He thinks he sees Ignis widen his eye, a little, at Prompto's touch. He can't be the only one who feels this. It's been there for some time, after all, in their quiet moments together, in the comfort of a touch, or an easy embrace, the offering of a smile, a laugh. Unhurried, but constant.  
  
“Ignis,” Prompto says, looks up into his face; he's so handsome, in this moment, still damp hair in his face, an Ignis he doesn't see all that often. It's brave, he thinks, what he's about to do, because there's something about stating intentions that feels scarier than just going ahead and doing it, consequences be damned. There's a chance for Ignis to say no, but Prompto is not quite as thoughtless as he used to be, and he doesn't want Ignis to be caught unaware. “Can I kiss you?” He says it, words coming out in a rush before he can properly think about it.  
  
Ignis stills for a moment, his eye on Prompto, but unseeing, and just as Prompto's starting to worry, Ignis let's out the breath he must have been holding. “Oh,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His hands move, first finding their way to Prompto's shoulders, before one trails up Prompto's neck, sends a slight shiver through Prompto's body. He feels fingers against his jaw, then lightly tracing the curve of his lips, and then Ignis leans down and kisses Prompto.

It's soft, when their mouths meet, and their lips move together sweetly. They kiss with care, with longing, as if savouring every moment of this connection. It's nothing like any of Prompto's other first kisses with people, and his mind is so full of Ignis, of the warmth of this moment. He leans into the kiss, into Ignis, his hand moves to Ignis' waist, fingers curling loosely into the fold of Ignis' shirt. Prompto feels as Ignis sighs into their kiss, a soft breath against his lips, and a small sound escapes the back of his throat. He feels Ignis' hand cupping the side of his face, fingers brushing against Prompto's warming cheeks.  
  
It's not passionate, but there's a definite heat there, slow, just beneath the surface. Prompto kind of wants to melt a little, as Ignis continues to kiss him so tenderly. His heart is beating heavily inside his chest when they pull apart, and Prompto's a little lost for words and for breath.  
  
“I hope it was okay,” he says eventually, and they haven't moved from where they were, the only loss of contact so far the one between their lips.  
  
“Your kiss was more than 'okay',” Ignis answers, fingers brushing lightly across Prompto's cheek.  
  
He feels his cheeks warm a little then, wonders vaguely to himself if he'll ever be too old to blush. “I meant kissing you at all, not how it was,” he says, embarrassed. Prompto's done enough kissing by this point in his life that it's a skill he doesn't have to worry about, thanks.  
  
Ignis laughs then, quietly, but a laugh all the same, and there's a teasing quality to his voice when he speaks. “I know exactly what you meant.” The sound of it has Prompto's heart lifting, because that easy teasing they'd all partaken in has been hard to come by the last few years, and it's so nice when it does happen. “And I meant exactly what I said.”  
  
Prompto huffs, but it's without annoyance, really, because he's smiling. He feels Ignis' fingers move to the corner of his lips, sees him smile in return.

 

-

 

“Iris stopped by while you were gone,” Ignis says, after Prompto lets himself into the apartment.  
  
“Aw, why do people always come by when I'm not here?” Prompto all but whines, toeing his boots off by the door. There's a definite almost-pout on his face to go with his words. “How was she though?” He hasn't seen Iris in a long time, really, though he knows she's joined the hunters in fighting the daemon's. Can't keep an Amicitia from a good fight, it seems.  
  
Prompto only notices then that there's music playing softly, and Ignis is seated on the small couch, a book in his lap, fingers still lingering, though not moving, on the pages. As he passes by the couch he reaches out, brushes a hand lightly across Ignis' shoulders, a sort of _'I'm here',_ affection that has come easily to them, since they first shared a kiss.  
  
“She's well,” Ignis answers. “She's been on a mission with Gladio down near Old Lestallum.”  
  
Prompto is in the process of pulling off his jacket, but he stills when he hears Ignis mention Gladio.  
  
Ignis continues, sounding as calm as ever. “They were helping some hunters who had gotten into trouble, I believe, but they managed to get everyone out alive.”  
  
Letting out a breath, Prompto continues changing into something more comfortable, ignores the new, blossoming bruise spreading across one calf, thanks to a goblin he hadn't noticed while dealing with a mindflayer. “I'm glad everyone's okay. Iris has gone full daemon hunter now though, bet Gladio's feeling conflicted about that.” He moves and joins Ignis on the couch, sitting close, one hand reaching out to take hold of Ignis', no longer even pretending to try and read any more. With his free hand, Ignis carefully sets the book aside.  
  
“Yes, I imagine so,” he agrees, tone even. “Fiercely proud, and yet terrified of anything happening to her.”  
  
Prompto hums in agreement. “I am too, really. But there's no stopping Iris, even if Gladio wanted to. She's an Amicitia, after all.” He laughs lightly, feels a small sense of relief at Ignis' answering smile.  
  
Ignis turns his hand within Prompto's, twines their fingers together. It seems Ignis has found it just as simple as Prompto has, to slip from friendly comfort, to something more affectionate. It warms something within him.  
  
“She also mentioned how Gladio has found someone, though he doesn't wish to marry her until Noctis and the sun return.”  
  
Prompto's fingers inadvertently tighten around Ignis' at the news, surprised, and his eyes search Ignis' face for any sign of his feelings about this. But Ignis has always been good at keeping his cards close, and the tinted glasses he wears makes it difficult for Prompto to see what might hide behind them.  
  
“Oh. That really is news, isn't it?” He says, and he's happy for Gladio, he is, but Prompto's first concern is Ignis, and how this might affect him. “Are you okay?”  
  
Ignis raises his eyebrows a little. “Of course. Why are you so worried?”  
  
“That bad at hiding it, huh?” He says, laughing softly at himself. Ignis can always tell. “I just,” and Prompto pauses, shifts a little where he's sitting, though never letting go of Ignis' hand. They never talk about this. “Just worried, because of what you and Gladio had, you know? I don't like seeing you hurt.” He says this all quickly, getting it over with, feeling awkward all the same.  
  
And now Ignis really is surprised, he gives Prompto's hand a soft squeeze, leans closer in towards him. “Do you believe I still harbour romantic feelings towards Gladio?”  
  
Prompto laughs again, a self-deprecating huff of air, because put that way, so matter of factly, it does sound a little silly. He squirms a little bit, until Ignis' other hand moves to rest on Prompto's shoulder, trying to still him. “I, uh. Well, n-no, not really,” Prompto says, a little awkwardly. “But I know what happened between you guys couldn't have been, uh, couldn't have been easy. And just, well, I'm just worried about you, is all.” _'I don't want to see your heart break,'_ is what Prompto's really thinking.  
  
“Prompto,” Ignis says softly, the hand on Prompto's shoulder moves now, fingers cupping the back of his neck, and Prompto feels his skin prickle with warmth at the touch. “Yes, it was a difficult time, I'll admit,” he says. “But I don't spend my time thinking about what might have happened.”  
  
“Yeah, you're too practical for that,” Prompto says, fondly.  
  
“And maybe,” Ignis continues, the corners of his mouth almost twitching into a smile, “I'm just a touch too busy with the here and now.”  
  
His fingers now toy with the hair at the nape of Prompto's neck, drawing a small shiver from him; he's sure Ignis can feel the movement beneath his hand. “Well, there is a lot going on,” he agrees.  
  
At this, Ignis actually laughs. It's soft, but a genuine laugh all the same. “I mean specifically with _you._ ”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Ignis leans in closer, his lips finding Prompto's forehead, and presses a soft kiss there, sweet and affectionate. Prompto wonders if Ignis can feel the blush that spreads across the back of his neck.

“I am truly happy for Gladio, that he's found someone, and I hope they can make it through this darkness together,” Ignis continues, a little more serious now. “It was a long time ago now, and I don't hold it against Gladio. Besides, it's not the same as the relationship you and Noctis have.”  
  
Ignis' words sink in slowly through Prompto's mind, and they take him by surprise when he realises. It hits him suddenly, had he not made his feelings for Ignis clear? “Had,” he says quickly, feeling a little panicked. “Had. Ignis...Iggy, you don't think I'm just, j-just...” Prompto can't say it, has never even entertained the thought before.  
  
“With me while you wait for Noct to return?” Ignis offers, and the laugh he let's out this time is a little bitter, an unusual sound to come from Ignis, and it's his turn to look uncertain and vulnerable. Prompto hates it. “I must admit, the thought has crossed my mind.” He turns his face away from Prompto's, his own way of looking away.  
  
Prompto pulls his hand from Ignis', and reaches forward, pulls Ignis towards him into a tight hug. He hates the idea that he's hurt Ignis somehow, even without meaning to. This thing between them they had fallen into, and it had been so easy, after that first kiss, so simple to fall into something more. “Y-you're more to me than that,” Prompto says, almost fiercely, his face pressed against Ignis' neck. “ _We_ mean more than that.”  
  
He feels Ignis' hands shake a little as they reach around him, find purchase at Prompto's waist.  
  
“I'm not here with you to pass the time,” he continues, his voice shaking less as his conviction rises, wanting Ignis to be able to hear in his voice how much he means everything he's saying. “I'm not waiting for Noct to come back. Well, I am,” he says, before realising how it sounds, and quickly adds, “but only like we all are! For him to come back and get rid of the daemons and bring the sun back. I'm not, I'm not waiting for _us._ ” He let's out a small, choked sob, against his will, and he feels Ignis push him away a little, just enough that they're able to face each other again.  
  
“Prompto?” He asks, voice quiet and concerned.  
  
Prompto doesn't mean to cry, he really doesn't, but it's not something he's ever spoken about before, not with anyone, and it's as if voicing his thoughts out loud break that dam he'd built up against any tears. “I don't want to, I don't know, make less of what me and Noct had together, you know?” He says, trying to ignore how his emotions are betraying him a little now. But Ignis remains calm, and listens to him quietly. “Because I loved him, I really did. And it's not like I don't love him anymore, really, but it's not the same, and it hasn't been for years. He's gone, and we're not.” He sniffs, wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. He's not very good with voicing these feelings, especially when he's not had a chance to really think them through. Poor Ignis has become victim to his jumble of words, it seems.  
  
“I just. In the end,” he says, “I accepted a long time ago that me and Noct wouldn't get a happily ever after, or whatever, and I'm okay with that.” Prompto pulls in a deep breath, before he continues. “I want him back, we all want him to come back. But y-you're not a replacement. You're _you_ , and it's...” his cheeks begin to flush a little, and he wonders if he's saying too much. “Uh, well. It's you, I want.”  
  
Ignis is quiet for a moment, before he reaches out, hands finding Prompto's face, before cupping his cheeks, thumbs rubbing in slow, gentle circles against his flushed skin. “Perhaps we should have spoken about this sooner,” he says, and now there's no sound of bitterness or uncertainty in Ignis' voice, a relief to Prompto. “Forgive me, love, for doubting your intentions.”  
  
As nice as the closeness is, Prompto kind of wishes that he could hide, he feels ridiculous even for the small amount of tears; he's older now, there shouldn't be any need for them, he thinks. But Ignis doesn't seem to mind, as he simply wipes the dampness from Prompto's cheeks.  
  
“No, I'm sorry,” Prompto insists, his fingers curled tightly into the fabric of Ignis' shirt. “I never meant to make you think I was just passing the time.”  
  
“I'm afraid the blame for that is entirely on me.” And now it's Ignis' turn to look as if he wants to hide.  
  
“I don't understand?”  
  
Ignis sighs, and the vulnerability is back. It still takes Prompto by surprise, to see these sides to Ignis that he's never seen before. For years he was simply Noct's stuffy advisor, and then he became a companion and a friend, and their time together since the darkness began had shown Prompto even more sides to Ignis too, the comfort and the care that he could offer. But there's more still that he's learning about Ignis all the time, like the easy affection, and now the pet names. It makes sense, Ignis has always been professional and reserved, but there's something to seeing him in these private moments that makes Prompto's heart swell, even if this particular moment also squeezes his heart with pain.  
  
His hands move, slide from Prompto's face, to rest lightly on his shoulders. It takes him several long moments to speak again, and when Ignis does, the words feel heavy, as if he's pulling them from within himself with a struggle, something that's difficult to admit. “I suppose,” he starts, his face tilted a little from Prompto's direction, “that I simply assumed you couldn't possibly want me, as I am, for long.”  
  
The squeezing of Prompto's heart increases to an almost physical pain, and he feels as if he needs to gasp for air. He knows he's grown, even if it's just a little bit, when he stops, and thinks before he speaks. He doesn't want Ignis to think that what he feels is pity, because it's not, and he doesn't want to hurt Ignis any further. “If anyone gets self-esteem issues, it's me,” he finally settles on saying, tries to come from a place of understanding, although he's desperate to show Ignis how wrong he is. “You know? Going from being the fat loner kid at school, to the useless idiot in a group of highly competent men.” Ignis makes as if to interrupt, but Prompto continues, “I get it. But you're not any less _you_ , after what happened. Or any less desirable.”  
  
He was doing so well, but being so honest always has a tendency to make Prompto blush and feel awkward, and the same happens to him now. If he's not imagining things, there seems to be just a hint of colour also, across the top of Ignis' cheeks.  
  
“I know you wouldn't lie to me,” Ignis says, sounding less sure than he usually does, and he doesn't finish the thought. Prompto gets the impression that Ignis remains unconvinced by what he'd said.  
  
So instead of words, Prompto decides that maybe it's better to show Ignis. Uncurling one of his hands, he presses it to Ignis' face, and leans in close until Prompto's kissing him. There's a definite heat to the kiss, almost desperation on Prompto's part, to prove his words and feelings are true, to make Ignis feel desired. He pulls Ignis closer, trails his tongue along Ignis' lower lip, before deepening the kiss. He feels Ignis gasp, a breath of warm air, against his lips. They kiss until they're breathless, but Prompto doesn't pull back far when they pause, chests heaving as they try to catch their breath.  
  
Ignis is still wearing his tinted glasses. Prompto reaches up, hands resting lightly on the side of Ignis' face, not wanting to do anything to make Ignis uncomfortable. “Can I?” Prompto asks. He's seen Ignis without the glasses before, but he knows that the other man is still self-conscious about his scars, and it feels more meaningful in this moment.  
  
“I don't see why you would want to,” Ignis says, his voice a little shaky. But he gives Prompto a small nod of permission.  
  
Prompto takes hold of the glasses, removes them gently from Ignis' face, and sets them carefully aside on the small coffee table beside them.  
  
“You're beautiful,” he says, voice full of sincerity, as he just takes in Ignis' face. The scars aren't pleasant, and only serve to remind Prompto of the pain the injuries must have caused Ignis at the time, and long after, but they don't detract from how handsome he is, they don't stop Ignis from being _Ignis_.  
  
Ignis let's out a harsh breath, and Prompto feels fingers press into his hips. “I may be unable to see, but I can certainly feel. Beautiful is not the word.”  
  
The idea hits Prompto hard, as he imagines Ignis in the dark, fingers moving across his own face, mapping the changes, trying to visualise them.  
  
“It is the word,” Prompto insists, before he leans in, and presses a gentle kiss, barely a touch of his lips, to Ignis' closed eye. This time, he hears Ignis pull in a breath. “Let me show you.”  
  
Prompto takes hold of Ignis' hand, pulls him up from the couch, and carefully leads him to the bedroom.  
  
“You know, Prompto, no one ever thought of you as useless,” Ignis says, as he follows Prompto into the room.  
  
“That,” Prompto declares, tugging Ignis' shirt off, “is a conversation for another time.”  
  
“I won't forget it,” Ignis all but threatens, hands going to Prompto's waist, pulling him close, as they kiss.  
  
“I'll try and make you forget,” Prompto promises, as they part. “Bed's half a metre away,” he warns, though Ignis moves with confidence around the well known room.  
  
“An interesting proposition.”  
  
They fall onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and lips and hands.  
  
Their lovemaking is different, tonight, from how it's been before. Prompto's desperate to show Ignis just what he means to him. It's slow, when Prompto's body meets with Ignis', when the breath leaves both of their bodies. Slow, and soft, and though there's no denying the passion they share, it's a steady burn. The kisses they swap are tender, the touches to each other's bodies gentle and thoughtful, as if committing everything their fingers touch to memory. They take their time, and it's a delicious build up of heat, desire uncoiling slowly low in Prompto's body. He just wants to make sure that Ignis feels loved.  
  
Ignis' skin feels flushed beneath the press of his fingers, light noises escaping from Ignis' mouth with every steady push of Prompto's hips. The undoing of the both of them is gradual, a leisurely heat that continues to build up between them both, until neither of them can take any more.  
  
Prompto finds himself whispering nonsensical words of affection to Ignis, calls him beautiful, as Prompto finally comes undone with another meeting of their hips, feels himself shudder deeply against Ignis.  
  
He feels Ignis' own undoing, right in his very hand, fingers moving over flushed skin, and the thought sends Prompto's head spinning further out of orbit than it already is.  
  
Fingers brush softly across his face, over his flushed, sweaty skin, and Prompto leans into the hand that cups his cheek.  
  
“So are you, love,” Ignis whispers breathlessly.  
  
They pull each other close, arms tightly around each other's bodies, as they simply lay there and breathe, warm and comfortable in each other's presence.  
  
That night is another shift in their relationship, into something deeper, something that is simply _more_.  
  
Prompto doesn't know what the future will bring, what might happen, and how long they could end up waiting for Noctis to return and help them banish the darkness for good. But, he realises that the one thing he's always been good at is keeping on. Despite all else that's happened, and might still happen, he's always been able to push through and keep going.  
  
So he'll do that, with Ignis, with his warmth and comfort as Prompto's source of guiding light within the darkness.


End file.
